feel the city breaking and everybody shaking
by wormholes
Summary: "night fever, night fever / we know how to do it / ah ah ah ah." —esteemed poets, the bee gees. it is 2019, and it is shipping week. welcome back to 2012.
1. day one: jew

Day 1: Jew (Jord/Yew) OTP, Ray/Yavi BROTP

Night at the Museum AU

Something, or _someone_ must have gone wrong in this museum, because firstly, everything smelled weird (although Yew had been in museums before, and every single museum he had ever been to had a weird smell), but more importantly because he swore the dinosaur skeleton had just turned its head to look at him. Like he was a piece of meat, or something.

And then the dinosaur roared, and Yew decided that it didn't really matter if a skeleton could digest you, because you were going to get bitten in half anyway. Fuuuck.

* * *

Yew hadn't really wanted to take this job, but he had to prove like he was some semblance of a good role model instead of just fucking around all the time, because that's what adults were supposed to do, right? This whole night guard thing was starting to look like it wasn't the effort, though. And for a half-rate museum in the middle of the city (no one really cared about _natural_ history anymore, right?), it sure wasn't worth the pay. And to top it all off, Marz, the _asshole_, hadn't left him with any instructions other than the darned instruction booklet which the dinosaur had almost ripped up. That said, the wax figure on the horse in the entrance hall was acting like Yew was his best friend, and so hey, maybe the novelty of the entire experience would trap him here. Yew blinked.

"So, remind me who you're supposed to be again?"

The wax (was he still wax?) man laughed heartily, exactly how caricatures of real people are wont to do, and lifted his sword. "I'm Teddy Roosevelt, the 26th President of the United States! Don't you know your history, young man?"

Yew quirked an eyebrow. Whoever the fuck this guy was, he sure as fuck was not Teddy fucking Roosevelt. For one thing, he wasn't white. He was definitely some kind of Asian, probably Chinese or something. For another, he was pretty sure Roosevelt had had a moustache on him most days, and this guy was remarkably clean shaven. He pointed out these facts as thoughtfully and politely as you could to a wax figure, that is to say, he didn't.

Ambiguously-white-Roosevelt kind of blinked back at him. "Well, that's the name on the panel, so I guess that's me. Or that's supposed to be me. Who knows these days, really." He gestured vaguely at the display, Yew felt the tiniest pang of sympathy for the guy, who looked kind of crestfallen.

"Okay, well, look, we can uh. Give you another name? To differentiate you from… any other Teddy Roosevelt you might meet? Uhhh." Yew quickly scrolled through his mental list of names and kicked himself in an attempt not to say anything deeply embarrassing. "What about Jordan?" Ah. Yeah, that would work.

The wax figure nodded sagely. "Jordan it is." He sheathed his sword, and gracefully slid down from his horse. "Now, could you tell me how this 'Jordan' is supposed to behave, so that I can address my behaviour accordingly?"

Yew sighed. This was going to be a long night.

* * *

Unfortunately, Jordan did not appear to be the only poorly made wax figure in the museum, and Yew was genuinely starting to wonder if they all got shipped in bulk from some obscure Chinese factory. So he ran through the rooms with Jordan trailing behind him, doing his best to take stock of what was actually in this God forsaken museum.

The monkey wasn't a monkey. It was an orangutan, and Yew really didn't know why it had ever been labelled a monkey in the first place. In any case, its plaque helpfully informed him that its name was Zadi, and that it enjoyed being a librarian in its spare time. Yew also didn't know who had managed to create _that_ fun titbit, but at least it was enjoying itself with the YA novels that he had dug out from under the information counter.

Then the Huns had kicked up a fuss, chasing him down the hallway in an attempt to rip him apart, because that was like, their thing. It was horrible. Jordan had to spend ten whole minutes talking the whole bunch down from ripping off his arms and legs, and they had only relented because Jordan said he had snacks or something.

Also, none of them seemed to be named like Huns. Like, wasn't there supposed to be an Attila or something? The leader here seemed to be called Syd, and apparently the other three were her kids or something. Jordan whispered to him afterwards that he had never really gotten why they had such inconsistent naming trends — one was apparently named Angel while the other two were Hazel and Darcy — despite the fact that Syd had spent the one night Marz had left his phone with her by accident freaking out over baby names. Yew just didn't get it.

Yew was also starting to get the sense that Marz and his bunch weren't that great at being security guards.

After that, the duo continued on their merry adventure through the museum and wandered into what was supposedly Sacagawea's room, but the wax figure there apparently preferred being called Mels. "Did Marz name like, everything in this museum completely differently from what it's actually supposed to be?" Yew muttered, and he caught Jordan wince out of the corner of his eye.

"Yeah, well, he thinks it gives us, uh, personality. Or something like that."

Jordan offered no further explanation on the subject, so Yew just kind of shrugged. If he didn't want to talk about it and just wanted to mope, there wasn't any real reason to pry.

As they headed down the hall to the miniatures room, they heard the dinosaur roar again, and Yew groaned, which made Jordan snort. "Look, that thing is going to eat me the moment I head downstairs."

Jordan laughed. "What? No, dude, Joan just loves playing games. She's basically like a dog or something. Throw her a bone or whatever. Like not one of hers, I mean like a doggy bone or whatever. Just so you know, though, her favourite game is the one where she chases two people into a room then sits in front of the door so they can't get out."

"That's what she considers fun?" Yew made a face. "Okay, I can't fault her, she's like a dinosaur and has 0 actual brain cells."

By this time, they're at the miniatures room, and Yew can hear the sounds of tiny sword fighting and gunpowder. This is going to be a trip, he just knows it.

* * *

The two head miniatures are a cowboy and a Roman general. The cowboy (Ray) speaks with the worst, fakest Wild Wild West accent he's ever heard, while the Roman (Yavien) has a really ahistorical, posh, European accent. Both appear to hate each other's guts, because that's the kind of thing that you argue over when your world is as small as you are.

"Dude, Yavien's been shooting fucking catapults into my side of the room!"

"Yeah, well, you wouldn't know technology if it hit you in the face. Like the catapults are meant to do. So there's no harm done, really. Anyway, you've been shooting at us since Day 1, and we always have to return the pellets because you guys have limited ammo, and—"

"Guys, guys, stop." Yew pinched the top of his nose bridge and pointed at Ray. "You, son, need to chill the fuck out. Also, who taught you the word fuck?"

"Marz!" Ray chirped. "He taught us lots of cool words, like aching, and back pain, and how to swear in two languages!"

"Only two languages?" Yavien made the most pretentious noise to ever emerge from a small wax figure. "I had a dream last night about travelling on the Silk Road, and it made me hit my L6 and L7 like a real linguist, thanks to the glory of my empire."

"Why you—" And the scuffle began once more. Yew sighed for the 45th time of the night, and picked up the two mini-figures and pulled them apart.

Ray groaned. "Look, Gigantor, you can't just do that whenever you want! How the hell am I supposed to prove that I'm the best cowboy in the whole of the Wild Wild West if you just keep exercising your huge, monster fingers like that?"

Yew set the two down on the floor. "Look, I personally don't care what you two do in here, just that I don't want any mess on the floor and I don't want to have to explain why there's Roman stuff in the cowboy exhibit. Or like, anywhere other than the Roman exhibit, really. So you guys have to chill, or I will personally come and place an army of alien Barbie dolls in here and they will become the supreme rulers of the miniatures."

Ray and Yavien took a moment to process this, before they both stared at each other in horror. "Aliens?" Yavien stared at Yew in horror. "Cowboys _and_ aliens? I can't deal with this."

Jordan, having now caught onto Yew, nodded like he knew what he was doing. "Yeah, so either none or both. Now, shake hands. And find a goddamn common interest for once."

Yew snorted. "Yeah, like, I dunno. Something weird, that you've never done before. Like figure skating, or something."

"What the hell is figure skating?" Ray glanced at Yavien, who shrugged. This wasn't by any means her area of expertise. "Like, a type of bear or something?"

"I don't know, you guys go figure it out." Yew put his hands behind his head, and leaned back on the wall. "I'm sure you'll become best friends or something. lol."

* * *

It was 5am by the time Yew and Jordan trooped down the stairs. Unfortunately, they were only halfway down before Joan fucking _bounded over_ to them. Yew sighed. Jordan, the motherfucker that he was, fucking _laughed_ and _approached_ because the guy apparently had no sense of self-preservation.

"Who's a good girl, who's a good girl!"

God, Yew hated this job already.

"Who's a good— wait, what are you doing? Wait, put me down—" The dinosaur had grabbed Jordan by the collar of his shirt and tossed him into a conveniently open closet. "Wait—"

Joan now turned back to look at Yew, and despite the fact that the dinosaur literally had no eyeballs, Yew swore that he could see a glint in her terrible, terrible eye. "Wait, no, don't—" He backed up the stairs, but to no avail as Joan picked him up and tossed him into the exact same closet, before sitting her ass down in front of the door.

"God damn it." Yew's limbs were all in awkward places, it was the first day of his job and really did he have time to be dealing with this right now? "Move, you fucking lizard! Lizard skeleton! What the fuck!"

"Yeah, she's not going to move." Jordan sighed, and thoughtfully shifted himself so that Yew would be in a more comfortable position. "We're gonna be stuck here for a while."

There was a weird sort of silence. Yew wondered if he could melt a wax figure by sitting next to him. "So, tell me about your life," Jordan began, poking him on what he thought was Yew's shoulder. It was, in fact, his face. "Sorry. But yes, tell me about your life. Where are you from. What are you doing. Do you have a wife? Do you have a husband? I'm not one to judge, people of all sorts come into the museum these days—"

"Look, could I just not talk about that right now? I mean, you're like, made of wax."

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean I don't have _feelings_."

There was some more weird silence. Yew could have sworn that the dinosaur was listening to them talk outside. "Okay, well. Sorry." He sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. It was a good thing dead dinosaurs didn't slobber. "Uh, I'm Yew. I'm from California. I'm divorced, and my wife hates me while my son is disappointed in me. Okay, your turn." Yew did his best expectant look through the darkness of the closet.

Jordan laughed. "Yeah, well, I don't know who I am, really, remember? I'll just have to figure it out."

Yew thought about that for a moment. "Well, we have time now, I guess." He shifted his body to vaguely face the direction of Jordan's voice.

"Let's talk."

* * *

"You're coming back, right?"

Yew blinked at Jordan, who looked kind of nervous, even though he was sitting on top of his horse and everything. "I mean, I work here, so yeah I guess."

Jordan shifted awkwardly. "Yeah, well, you're like. Nicer than the previous bunch of guards, you know? And I just. I don't know. It's more comfortable with you around."

It was almost sunrise, and so Joan had thoughtfully let them out of her hostage situation. Two hours of cramping in the closet made everything sore, so in hindsight, Yew wasn't really surprised Marz had taught the miniatures about back pain. He snorted. "Yeah, well, someone has to watch out for you guys. I don't think that tablet is doing anybody any favours."

But he looks at Jordan, who's still waiting for a real answer, and relaxes slightly. "Yeah, I'll be back." Jordan nods, and settles himself properly on his horse.

Yew watched as the sunlight streamed into the room, and Jordan slowly froze. God, he sure hoped everything upstairs was back where it was supposed to be.

Something's definitely different about the room's demeanour from when he first entered, though, and he can't quite figure out what it is. Yew glances around, and he stops back at Jordan.

The figure had looked proud when he first came in, an over-exaggerated act, maybe of someone that he wasn't supposed to be. Now, a gentle smile had spread across his face, and it glinted softly in the morning sunlight.

* * *

_Some spicy outtakes:_

_\- I was thinking about who to make the Easter Island Moai and no one really seemed to fit but the idea of 'N N' instead of 'Gum Gum' and 'O O' instead of 'Dum Dum' kind of makes me laugh._

_\- AU where Ray instead of being a cowboy is just Lightning McQueen. That is all, thank you for your time._

_Anyway, welcome to Shipping Week 2019! Insert confetti, insert canned laughter, I can't believe we're all still here writing these things. I'm your host Joan (as is apparently) and I am a dinosaur. Also, I will be attempting the AU challenge this week because that's a thing still. I was trying to explain to my friend how this Shipping Week thing is really just one long meme and she was kind of like, huh, and I was like, yeah, same. _

_Anyway, this was meant to be a shitpost, but it's 2344 words long. In the words of Yew, 'lol', and I hope the next day's ones don't turn out like this because some of us have to actually go for class. Thank you for your time and I will see you tomorrow._


	2. day three: jonejord

Day 3: Joan/Jord BrOTP, Squared (Jord/Mels) OTP

_Alright, people, let's start at the beginning one last time._

_My name is Jordan Walker. I was bitten by a radioactive spider. And for the last four years, I've been the one and only Spider-Man. You know the rest._

"Venti Americano? Anyone got a Venti Americano?" Jordan's train of thought was cut short by a hand waving through his vision. "Helloooooo."

"What?" Jordan blinked.

The barista squinted at the cup in her hand. "God, I wish I could read Jay's handwriting… Jordjord? That can't be right. Jord. Screw this, next time, I'm just making the coffee, Ari can hand them out."

The aforementioned 'Jord' was still blanking her. "Sorry, what?"

"Your coffee order. You know, the one that you ordered two minutes ago. At the counter. Here, in Starbucks—" the barista cut herself off with a groan. "You know what? Just take it and go. I have other people to serve and this is embarrassing. Goodbye. Next!" She turned back to the coffee machine.

"Uh, thanks, Miss..." Jordan stared at her nametag, politely trying his best to look like he wasn't staring at anything else. The barista's long, curly hair had draped down onto exactly where her tag was supposed to be, though. "...Mels? Mels?" Upon realising he had repeated her name twice for absolutely no reason (and parallel to how she had repeated his, who'd've thought), he just sighed, zipped up his hoodie, and headed out through the swinging double doors.

The Front Street Starbucks wasn't the closest to campus by any means, but it was a quick walk to the water and all the other ones were obnoxiously crowded anyway. Jordan stepped out into the crisp autumn breeze, took a deep whiff of his coffee and gagged. God, he would never get used to this enhanced senses thing. He sniffed. Four years as Spider-Man and he still lied to his brain about whether American coffee ends up smelling burnt or not. God, he missed home.

Now, where was he?

_I saved the city a few times. Decided electricity was too much for the web-shooters, because I kept having to carry batteries around, so I stopped trying at that. Saved the city again. Then again. Then a few more times. Saved a girl, Tate. We dated. Then she moved away, and I got dumped. Apparently, being a superhero isn't a substitute for having a personality._

_I broke a few bridges. Built a few bridges. Tried to save my best friend. Couldn't. Then I realised superheroes aren't great friend material anyway, so I stopped trying to make friends. Went to college. Don't go home a lot, because it's far away and you can't web-sling across the ocean. So I'm doing school. Same old, same old Spidey stuff. But if you're hearing this, you already knew that._

Jordan shook his head. He would have to figure that out later, probably. Not like he would have to introduce his real identity to anyone soon, anyway — there were two people who had known that who he wasn't archenemies with. But Joan was dead, and Iris was busy trying to unfuck her education several states away. And okay, there was Peter, but they weren't really friends in the same way. More like colleagues. So there was just him, really, and he was okay with that. Better than putting more people in the crosshairs of Norman Osbourne.

He stared at the skyline, Manhattan glittering stereotypically across the bridge. Jordan had hoisted himself up onto his usual spot — the left bit of the skyscraper nearest to the water's edge, facing the East River — and swung his feet back and forth in the wind. Six years in New York, and he still felt like he had barely scratched the surface of what was in the city, although spending seventy percent of your civilian life studying did that to you. The other thirty was spent sleeping, and honestly, the civvie bits of his life only took up a quarter of his time anyway, he really didn't know why he was thinking so hard about this.

The sunset was nice today though, and the clouds were doing their usual fucked-up thing. In the distance, he could see that it was raining over some part of Midtown: close enough to be seen, but far away enough to swing away. Thank God. Jordan downed his coffee, pulled his mask down and turned around to leave, and— holy fuck, what the fuck was that?

There was something shooting out multicoloured light streams on the building three blocks away. Jordan groaned. "You ever know that like, when something is a bad idea," he muttered to himself, leaping off the concrete, "and you know it's a bad idea, but then you're a superhero, so then you get baited into figuring it out, but you know it was going to be fucked up, but then you do it anyway? Fuck me." Peak hour traffic wailed in bright lights below him. God. Jordan really, really hated this time of the day: if it wasn't for the fact that it made the sky look pretty, he would be curled back up in his room with his headphones jammed firmly on and taking a long nap.

Patrol also played a part in why he was out now, though, and God damn it if it was another one of Doc Ock's exploding things he really was not ready to deal with this today.

Jordan landed on the balls of his feet, which was a nice way of saying that he, very gracefully, did not fall over upon reaching the destination. He sighed. Up close, it was clear that the glowing lights were coming from a portal type thing, which was way out of his comfort zone. It was only Wednesday. He didn't deserve this. Stepping a little bit closer, Jordan tapped the comms link in his ear, and waited. "Ding dong, it's me. I hope you can get the visuals through the suit, because I can't be fucked with this."

"Well," replied Peter somewhat sardonically, "I can see it, but I feel like I shouldn't be able to. You seem like you would be more likely to know what this is, I'm just your tech support."

"I've never seen anything like this before, so don't get smart at me." Jordan shot back. "Damn it Peter, I'm a civil engineer, not a quantum physicist!"

Jordan could hear Peter rolling his eyes across the comms link, and the muffled sound of him attempting to sit up straight in his chair. "Well, I can run a scan on it, but no promises. It's probably something fucked up, like someone tried to fuck with the space-time continuum or something. I'll see if I can get a read on the kind of energy that's coming from it. In the meantime, don't do anything stupid."

"When have you ever known me to do anything stupid?"

"Well," said Peter, "where do you want me to begin?"

"Good point." Jordan peered at the portal. It was still shooting out sparks, but the closer he got to it, the more magnetism he could feel from it, as though it was pulling his body even closer. There was something weird about it though, as though he could feel a connection with it — no, not it, something on the other side.

His Spidey-sense tingled, and Jordan touched the portal.

There was a sharp crackle of static in his ears, and an explosion of light and oh god oh fuck what's happening oh god he couldn't hear anything anymore oh god oh fuck it's too bright it's too bright fuck this fuck fuck fuck fuck ahhhhhhhhhh—

And then it was night.

Jordan dry-heaved.

He looked up.

It was still New York, but something seemed… different. Jordan didn't know what it was, but the air was different. Come to think of it, the ads were definitely different though. He touched his comms link. "Peter?"

Dead silence. The earphones might have gotten fried through… whatever the hell he just passed through. Peter was probably right. A weird rip in the space-time continuum, and now he was never going to get home, and ah fuck, he should just quit while he's ahead.

But spiders don't quit, and so Jordan sighed, picked himself up and swung towards Times Square.

* * *

This Spider-person, or fake Spider-person, or fake Spider-Man, or whoever-the-fuck-it-was was a kid. A Spider-Woman? A Spider-Girl? He wasn't sure, all he knew was that she didn't know what the fuck she was doing. Her name was Ray, if that was her real name. Jordan had been known to lie about his, so he couldn't be too sure. But he had a feeling that she wasn't — she must have been 14 at most. 13, maybe. 13 and a half. Jesus, that's really fucking young.

She said that she had just moved to a new school, Visions Academy or something, and that her parents had wanted her to move because they wanted her to 'excel academically' and 'be her best self', she said with air quotes. She hated it there. But the spider was new, and it had been like a day, and now she was sticking to walls and glass and everything and Spider-Man was dead and after being thrown through a dimensional whirlpool, Jordan felt like this girl was going to be the tipping point for him losing his mind.

She wanted to know everything. Who he was. Where he came from. How he could be Spider-Man when Spider-Man had just died and she didn't know how to be Spider-Man, and ah what the hell. She was a kid. Not like Jordan was any less of an idiot, but he liked to pretend that he was at least reasonably mature at the ripe old age of 22. At least he had the foresight to practice his self-introduction before he landed in a completely fucking alternate universe.

Jordan sighed, and took a big slurp of his smoothie. "Yeah, I'll teach you the ropes, but you tell me your side of the story first. Why are there universe portals? Why am I here? What do I need to do to get me home?"

Ray looked like a deflated balloon animal. "Spider-Man… Mr Parker, he gave me this key thing. Said I had to plug it into Kingpin's machine. But, uh. It broke. I don't know what to do." She showed him the broken pieces of the key, and Jordan snorted. It was a goober, of course. At least the OG Spider-Man of this universe knew what was up. He tapped his fingers on the table, making a sort of echoey noise.

"Okay, so like, at least we sort of know where to get started? There's like, an Alchemax research facility around here, right. Can you like, Google where that is?"

Ray informed him that the facility was in upstate New York, and he groaned. No way he was web-slinging all the way there. God, the bus lines had better run the same way in this universe, or he was going to murder Kingpin. Or disintegrate. Well, he was already halfway there. Fuck this shit.

The kid also asked him personal, probing questions all the way to the bus stop, because that's apparently how all kids are these days. Jordan sighed, and exaggeratedly and purposefully dragged his hand down his face to reflect exactly how tired he was. Ray didn't seem to get the hint, because she just kept asking stuff. "Where do your web-slingers go when you sleep? How did you hide them? Where do I get web-slingers? Are you married? Is Spider-Man popular? I know the head of the Daily Bugle — J. Jonah Jameson? — really hates _my_ Spider-Man, so I don't—"

"Look, dude," Jordan interrupted, clapping a hand on her shoulder. "Here's your first Spider-Man lesson. Don't ask questions that you don't want answers to." He took a big slurp of his milkshake, the echoing reminding him that his cup was, in fact, empty. He tossed it in the next trash can. "There's a lot of things that I don't think you want to hear about it."

"But I need to know all this if I want to be a good Spider-Man, right? Like I just—"

Jordan groaned. "Dude. Stop."

"—do I even call myself Spider-Man? Do I have to be like, a Spider-Girl? Spider-Woman? I mean like, gender is fake and all that and being androgynous I guess would help hide my identity, but—"

* * *

Jordan does, in fact, find out that Spider-Women do exist in other dimensions. In fact, he finds out in the worst fucking way possible, because this is the worst fucking day of his life and on top of fighting a surprise Doc Ock, he has to confront all the trauma that he's been trying his best to ignore since like, day fucking 13.

It's Joan. She's a fucking Spider-Woman, and she has a suit that looks totally different from his, because of course she does, but it's got the same fucking Spider and same fucking web-slingers and oh god he was really, really not ready to deal with this today. For fuck's sake, he's swinging in a forest with ONE web-slinger, trying his best not to crash into a goddamn tree and at this rate he might as well be George of the fucking Jungle. Being Spider-Man is The Worst, capital T, capital WORST.

She's all fucking chill about it too, like she's got it all figured out. She probably does, given that she spent way too many of their teenage years obsessing over all those alternate universe type things. In hindsight, Jordan doesn't know why he wasn't more prepared for this eventuality: it's not much of a stretch to imagine more Spider-people on top of himself and that was definitely not a Freudian slip in any way.

They stop on a roof, as far away from Alchemax as they can reasonably get without getting immediately wrapped up in tentacles (Jordan wished his brain would stop with the Freud). Jordan drops and rolls, because that's exactly how parkour works, while Joan lands on her feet with surprising grace.

Ray lands on her ass, of course. It's a rite of passage for every young budding Spider-person.

Jordan is trying his best not to make eye contact with his (ex?) best friend, but Joan's never been one for awkward futzing around. "Alchemax is going to descend on us and unleash hell unless we can regroup somewhere safe. Do you have like, a safehouse anywhere or anything?" She gives Jordan a hard stare. Jordan's tongue has suddenly metamorphosed into a thick block of Vibranium. Joan's shoulders droop, and she sighs.

"Look, Jord, me too, but we can talk about it later, when we're not, like, going to get instantly vaporized. And the only way we can do that, if you haven't realised, is if we can get to a _safehouse_."

Ray, who has just finished picking herself up and dusting herself off, thankfully offers an option. "Mr Parker has a wife. Mary Jane Watson. And… an aunt? May Parker. I think. There was some footage of her house in Queens — if I see it in person I think I might remember it. And she might have some help to offer us."

Jordan finds himself nodding along. He has no idea how they're ever going to find an entire house in the entirety of Queens, but that's more of a likelihood than whatever he would be able to offer. Joan scratches the back of her head, then snaps her fingers. "Oh! May Parker, yeah I know who that is. She's a nurse, right? I've met her a few times from Spidey stuff. She's okay. And I do know where she lives in my universe, I think. I just hope it's the same place." She taps Jordan on the shoulder, and he straightens up instinctively. "There's no way that I'm swinging all the way there, though."

Jordan can't help himself, and laugh-snorts. He can help with that one, at least. "Bus stop is that way," he points out, "just beyond that bit of trees over there."

They leap off the edge, one by one. Ray is more prepared now, and catches herself neatly on the up-swing. She's learning fast, Jordan notes, but she's still clumsy and he really doesn't know how he's going to deal with all the weird… powers stuff that she displayed back in Alchemax. Kids these days, with their invisibility and electro-shocks and everything. Things are different for her.

Though, Jordan thinks, glancing at Spider-Joan, things are different for her too. And for him, probably, from their perspective. There's no telling how different, really. Jordan sighs some more, and pulls himself up onto the next building — it's all he can do right now without freaking the fuck out.

They drop down neatly, a little aways from the bus stop. No one even looks twice at their costumes when they queue up for the bus and hand over a shuffle of coins, which is pretty much the only plus point of having a recently dead Spider-Man. Jordan winces. Fuck, Spider-Man — _Peter_, Peter Parker, is dead. He really doesn't need to think about the ramifications of dead Spider-people right now.

"Penny for your thoughts? Or ringgit, or Singapore dollar, or whatever." Her accent rings clear, still the same as the last time he heard it, four years ago.

He settles himself down into a rickety faux-leather seat, and Joan squashes herself next to him. He doesn't really want to look at her. Or, well, if he's being honest with himself, he doesn't really know how to look at her. It's definitely not romantic or anything (Jordan's inner teenage boy kind of goes _yuck_ at the thought of it), it's just that it's kind of. Her. But also not really her.

Joan kind of sighs. "Same." She fiddles with her fingers, then cracks her knuckles. "I mean, I get it. Like, the same thing happened to me, just that like, you know, I mean, like, I think you would know what I'm like, and it's not like I didn't predict that this might happen the moment that I got flung into this place, and like, you know what, I'm just chatting shit at this point and I'll shut up. Sorry."

Jordan takes a deep breath, and shifts his body slightly, just enough to properly face his dead alternative universe kind of best internet friend.

Joan has chopped off her hair: this is probably why he barely recognised her when she first caught the CPU out of nowhere. It's now hanging just above her shoulders, and the ends are bleached blonde. Her hood is pulled down, and she definitely has more scars than before, which Jordan's brain notes is a typical Spidey side-effect. She's staring, but also not really looking at Ray fiddle with the CPU, as though poking the buttons over and over again will suddenly make a goober materialize out of thin air. Jordan can tell she's tense though, firstly because she's biting her lip and her shoulders are all hunched, but mostly because Joan has always been transparent as fuck about all her feelings ever.

He pats her arm gently and she instinctively snatches his hand, before realising it's him and exhaling slightly. She doesn't really let go, though. Her grip just loosens.

"Joan." It's the first time he's said her name in a year, at least. Not that he ever really talks to anyone other than Iris about her, because Iris understands. But there is something that he needs to know before they can carry on, or it's going to sit on them for the rest of their time here.

"What happened to your version of me?"

Joan snorts, then looks at him, like really looks at him. It's kind of weird, Jordan thinks, that her eyes are exactly the same kind of bright — the same thing that was really different about meeting her in person for the first time. "Okay look, I had like, this whole speech prepared about how best to introduce myself and everything? But, uh, TL;DR, you're dead."

"Oh, same." Jordan pauses on that for just a little bit too long, before he backs up, "wait, no, not that I'm like, dead or anything, uh. Fuck. I just meant that like, my version of you is dead too."

Joan makes a small hollow noise. "Yeah, I kind of got that. It's like seeing a ghost, isn't it?"

"Yeah." Jordan scratches the nape of his neck. Going through the portal must have made his suit itchier than normal or something, because he didn't remember chafing there at all before. He glances out the window before continuing. "My… you died four years ago. I couldn't save you." Jordan pauses for a bit. "I fucked up lah, basically."

Joan can't help but laugh a little at his accent slipping out. "That's convenient. I mean like, my version of you died about then too. Four years. I'll take like, a big fucking guess and say yours was because of Harry, too."

"Yeah. Fuck him, dude." Jordan makes a derisive noise and Joan laughs, then leans into him in a way that's achingly familiar all at once. Jordan takes a careful breath, and adjusts his arm so that she doesn't slide off.

The entire thing makes a knot uncurl in his stomach — he had almost forgotten that had been there.

* * *

Ray has disappeared, and none of them know where she is.

Or rather, Jordan kind of has an idea — it's not like the kid really had that many places to hide, come on — but he's not going to be the one to snitch. Give her time. She's not safe out there, and he knows that she'll come back. Joan, however, is freaking out, because that, as Jordan thoughtfully recalls, is just kind of how Joan _is_. It's actually a surprise that she hasn't grown out of it.

She's pacing back and forth across May's carpet — Jordan's certain she's going to burn a hole in it at this rate. The others, meanwhile, seem to be preoccupied with their own devices. Eun is working on the goober back in the shed, while Spider-Man Noir (he's told them to refer to him as such, but Jordan is pretty sure someone said his name is like, Marz or something, and he decided that it wasn't grimdark enough, so Noir it is) is playing spinneroo with his cane gun.

Spider-Tree, or Spider-Groot, or whatever, has been lounging in a corner and refuses to say anything other than 'lol' and 'I am Groot'. Or maybe he just kind of can't. Jordan really doesn't have any experience with these alien/radioactive tree/whatever type things.

By now, Joan has flopped herself down next to him and spread out all her limbs like some weird sort of squid. "Are you sure we can't go and look for her?"

Jordan sighs. "Yeah, well there's really the whole of New York to look through, and we can't risk being split up more than we already are right now." Joan looks unconvinced, so he adds, "for the last time, she'll be back, so sit your dumbass down."

"My dumbass _has already_ been sat down, you fool." Joan shoots back, before her shoulders collapse into the squish of the sofa. "I'm just. I don't know." She sort of shakes her head vaguely. "Nevermind."

Noir raises an eyebrow at Jordan, and Jordan shrugs in response. Noir gestures at Jordan, as if to say,_ talk to her or something_, and Jordan shrugs again, indicating _we are alternate universe best friends who haven't seen each other in four years, what do you want me to say_. At this point Noir just straight up glares at Jordan, and Jordan goes, "okay, _fine_," and grabs Joan's wrist and pulls her towards the kitchen, closing the door behind them.

May's kitchen is delightfully homely, and full of signs of elderly-aunt-who-cares-about-wayward-nephew. The cookie jar is three quarters full, and the walls are a muted mustard, dulled slightly by age but not losing their warmth. The sink is empty. The drying rack, however, is full, and multiple dishes teeter precariously on top of an already staggering pile of dishes. On the right, the fridge door is adorned with multiple photos of Peter, May, and a man who is presumably Peter's uncle in various stages of life, from junior high to college graduation. The fridge magnets, in a move that makes Jordan wince, spell "PETER WAS HERE".

Joan, thankfully, hasn't noticed, and pulls up a seat at the dining table, a dark mahogany piece that wouldn't be out of place in a 1980s kitchen commercial. She props her chin up on her clasped hands. "What?"

"Um." Jordan doesn't really know what to say. They had talked on the bus for a while about general… stuff, but it hadn't taken them long to get to the city, and it had really just been a flurry of movement since. No wonder Joan was restless — they had barely rested up till now. "Look," he begins, "you've been on edge since we sat down in May's house. What the fuck is going on?"

Joan sort of snorts. "What do you mean, 'what the fuck is going on'? I'm a superhero, and the alternate universe versions of me, of us, is kind of running around somewhere in New York, deeply, deeply lost and she can barely control her powers—"

"Hold the fuck up, how do you know she's lost?" Jordan squints at Joan, who meets his stare head on. "The kid's _from_ Brooklyn, I'm pretty sure, and she's sure as hell not getting lost anywhere in that mess."

"Yeah, well, things look different from—"

"Yeah, well, she's not swinging anywhere, she's only got one web slinger and she's barely practiced—"

"I don't know!" Joan's chair makes a sharp scratching noise as she snaps to her feet. "When I became Spider-Man, I didn't know where the fuck anything was, or how to get anywhere, or what I was doing, and everything was big fucking terrible and horribly traumatic, and it's going to happen to her!"

It takes a moment before Joan's words sink in, and Jordan's fucking stomach knot does an encore performance.

He's frozen. It's not like he hasn't felt the same thing before — the person standing in front of him is living (and dead) proof of it. But it's the way that she says it, so matter-of-fact, that every Spider-Man is doomed to hurt, to loss. That's the part that gets him.

Jordan takes a deep breath, and sits down at the kitchen table. Joan realises that she's standing, and slowly sits back down in her own chair. There's a tense silence, punctuated by Noir's coughs from the living room and the neat chimes of May's wall-clock. "Look," Jordan starts. He pauses, because there is both too much to say to that and too little he knows how to say to that, so he fiddles with the salt shaker, which is cute enough to be shaped like an egg with a single hole.

He tries again. "Look, that's not going to happen." That wasn't quite right. "I mean, like, it might happen. I don't know." Joan has tilted back her chair, and is rocking back and forth on its hind legs, and she doesn't seem very convinced. The salt shaker is a very compelling shape and size. Jordan breathes, and sits up straight. "I can't promise that bad things won't happen to her. Because they might. But she's one of us now, and even if we don't trust her, if you and I don't trust her abilities right now, we have to give her the chance to handle it. By herself. She deserves that."

Joan's playing the piano along the edge of the table, tapping to the rhythm of a song Jordan swears he's heard before, some long time ago. He probably has. "Even if something bad happens to Ray, she's not alone." He swallows. "But this isn't about Ray, this is clearly about you, so if you wanna be honest with me about anything, I have time to listen."

Joan's fingers stop moving, and there's a moment before she says, "I mean, you know this. I couldn't save my you. It was horribly traumatic and it fucked me up. So now there isn't really. Anyone I can talk to about these things anymore." The grain of the table has suddenly become a very interesting sight to her. "Like, you know. Spidey things. It just… it fucking sucks. Like, it was a long time ago, but I remember. It still sucks."

Jordan sighs. "Not to be awkward, but can I like, give you a hug or something."

Joan is hesitant, but gestures vaguely, and the two collapse into a motion that's been four years coming.

Joan is quiet for a while, before she mutters, "you're so goddamn tall." It makes Jordan laughs, the first real laugh he's had in awhile.

"No, you're just short, dumbass."

"Shut up." Joan seems thoughtful. "How about this. If this whole thing works out, we don't die and we somehow manage to make it back to our separate dimensions… we promise to look out for each other. Somehow. I'm sure we'll figure out the technology after a while, the dimensions really all can't be that stable after all of this." She bites her lip. "But like. We look out for each other, the way that we were supposed to. You know. Except this time both of us have superpowers."

"Yeah. That's a good plan."

The doorbell rings, and both their Spidey-senses go off at once.

* * *

They're standing in front of a glowing mass of rainbow coloured light, and Jordan thinks he might not be able to keep his promise.

She knows, of course, that he was saying something that might not necessarily be true — Joan isn't by any means an idiot, and they both know now that this might be the only way. So when Ray shows up with a fistful of lightning, it is a godsend to them both. At this rate though, it's getting a little difficult for either of them to jump at any given time.

The rest have gone first — each of the Spider-people have said their goodbyes one by one. Marz dives into a splash of monochrome, his Rubik's cube in one hand and cane in the other. Eun makes a cheerful wave as the portal changes to a bright pink and blasts the loudest Kpop Jordan will ever hear in his life. Her spider, Syd, seems to wave with one of her tiny legs, although Jordan can't quite be sure from this distance. He's a bit busy freerunning on the school bus that Scorpion has just attempted to hurl towards him.

He knows by now, knows why Kingpin wants the portal working, and he knows what Kingpin wants. But he also knows that things like that can't be changed, and that there are some things that must happen, some things that will happen in one shape or form.

But, he thinks as he glances at Joan, who is swinging from a passing traffic light to dropkick Tombstone's face, people can learn from them. And they can move on together.

They've finally figured out the real name of the Spider-Tree. It's Yew, which he informed them when he decided to claim a Central Park one as his first cousin. He slams an arm down onto a bit of concrete, propelling Ray with enough force to dodge Tombstone's right hook and uppercut him. She yells something unintelligible, but Jordan catches enough of it. Yew pushes off towards his dimension, tumbling into an abyss of colour and causing the portal to flash a lovely, forest-y green.

A solid roundhouse kick puts Scorpion out of commission, and he joins the other two on a bit of road ripped straight from 39th Street. Someone's 39th Street, anyhow, the road sign is still attached. Ray is breathing hard. "You guys have to go. Now."

"What, and leave you behind?" Joan scoffs, but Jordan can see that Ray holds herself differently, and it's not just the new costume. She's more self-assured — she knows who she is. He nudges Joan.

"She's right. Let's get going." Joan seems to get it from the look on his face, and she nods.

Jordan gives her one last hug. "I'll see you soon," he promises.

"Eh, say one ah." He rolls his eyes at her, and Joan laughs, and then she is falling into fluorescence, and she is gone.

Something in him is lighter than before; amidst all the bruises, a weight upon his lungs seems to have lifted. Jordan fistbumps Ray, tells her, "you've got this," "losing to Kingpin is a matter of pride" and "take care of May", before he turns back to his future.

Jordan lets go, and he leaps.

* * *

_More Spicy Outtakes:_

_\- Ray's version of the Prowler is Hazel, and also she is dead. You're welcome, Hazel._

_\- All the villains are just the villains, but I like to think about an alternate Spiderman who's a bird with wings. You know, just because. _

_Okay I swear, this is like the longest one-shot fic I have ever written, it wasn't going to be this long, I was like huh, it's going to be like 4-5k and then it just kept going on and on and now here we are, sitting at 5515 words. We did it guys, we made this happen. It happened. I'm tired. I have other things to do. I'm going to go read my book and pretend that I can do work. Thank the Lord that this is over. _

_Also, I might backlog the Syd/Barbie fic at some point because I actually had something planned, but then I developed a massive headache yesterday and ignored all my responsibilities. So yeah, basically. It might come back at some point. _

_Happy Shipping Week. This is evidently my magnum opus and Into The Spiderverse is the best Marvel movie ever except maybe for CATWS. That is all, thank you for your time._


End file.
